Tonight's Poet Corner: Futile Resuscitation

Futile Resuscitation
by Belinda Roddie

There's been an accident
on 101, just off the last exit
leading to the lips of my
hometown. Thin kisses linger
on the steering wheel, while the
head bleeds sweet love, love, love.

I perform CPR on the passenger,
and the rain comes down like an
unnecessary blanket. A cold one, too.
My hands are blue, and the exertion
makes my own ribs feel bruised.

It's okay, I whisper to an unhearing ear.
You're okay, we're okay, we're going
to be okay. The traffic will keep flowing
forward like the river in a clock. Tick, tock,
one, two, three, breathe, rasp, wheeze.

By the time the paramedics arrive,
my body's grown numb. I seek refuge
in my own tired sedan. After answering
some questions, I gesture toward the sky.
The storm's beginning to roar, and I'd
like to get home. I don't like tempting fate.